


Golden Hour Sunlight

by IHaveNothingToDo



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Fae & Fairies, M/M, i made the mage simons dad and then immediately killed him off bc i hate him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2020-10-06 00:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20497595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IHaveNothingToDo/pseuds/IHaveNothingToDo
Summary: The door bangs shut hard enough to make Simon grin despite the sour feeling of disappointment in his chest.He sits in the quiet of the cottage, trying to enjoy the gentle smell of the homebrewed tea in his hands, the soft sounds of the birds eating his sunflower seeds right on the edge of the yard, the sunshine buttering the whole place in a shade that Agatha constantly referred to as the Golden Hour. The second easiest hour to access the Fae World. Simon, drums his fingers on his mug, watching a blue bird swoop down towards the valley.Penny should be far enough away by now.......Simon grabs his jacket.





	1. A Circle Is No Protection From Something Not Fae

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoyoteChasingThunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoyoteChasingThunder/gifts).

"Please Penny. _ Please. _"

"No Simon! It's dangerous and I am not taking you there." 

"Pennnyyyy." 

"No." Penny sighs, her magic fluttering around her like a bunch of butterflies before settling safely into the ring on her hand. The other one cradles Simon's cheek. 

"I know you want to go, Simon, but I'm not going to risk taking a human into the World. I'm sorry-"

Simon wrinkles his nose, "But you-" 

"I'm only half human Simon, and that's hard enough as it is with the Pitchs and Grimms breathing down my neck. They'd eat you alive." 

"Agatha-" 

Penny sighs, dropping her hand and pulling her shoes on, "Was born to fully fae parents. She just likes to stay over here to piss them off." 

Collapsing back down into his chair Simon sighs, defeated, "Any idea on when I can expect you back?" 

Penny blinks, then squints, letting her magic fly around her again. "You gave up suspiciously fast this time but I'm already so late my mum is going to pick my wings like an apple tree.

She levels Simon with a stern look, "You're not off the hook."

Simon snorts and she heads for the door of the cottage, "YOU SOUND LIKE YOUR MUM!" he shouts after her.

The door bangs shut hard enough to make Simon grin despite the sour feeling of disappointment in his chest. 

He sits in the quiet of the cottage, trying to enjoy the gentle smell of the home brewed tea in his hands, the soft sounds of the birds eating his sunflower seeds right on the edge of the yard, the sunshine buttering the whole place in a shade that Agatha constantly referred to as the Golden Hour. The second easiest hour to access the Fae World. Simon, drums his fingers on his mug, watching a blue bird swoop down towards the valley. 

Penny should be far enough away by now....

Simon grabs his jacket. 

Making quick work of crossing the yard, and vaulting over the fence, Simon grins into the butter yellow sunset, following the same path he takes every morning to visit Ebb and goats, but this time he loops into the forest, not away from it. 

There's a barely visible path through the bramble, but purple flowers dot the forest floor every so often. 

Simon smiles, plucking one from the ground and rolling it between his fingers. it feels like well water, the petals slick under his touch. It feels like Penny's magic. 

Simon keeps walking, even as the forest darkens around him, flora growing in all the nooks and crannies available, and even a few that aren't. 

Simon keeps walking. Penny hates confusing directions, she’s ranted about pixies and their 'bloody annoying misdirection’ to Simon enough times he could recite it back to her word for word. Penny only walks in straight lines. It's a pain when she insists on going to the market with him, but right now it's a blessing. A fae blessing. 

Snickering at his own little joke, Simon follows the flowers deeper and deeper into the woods, resolutely ignoring the crawling sensation born of being watched by too many eyes. The forest is dangerous, he remembers Ebb telling him, “Too many hiding places for friendless things in there.”

He's well past nerves and far into paranoid when the trees abruptly end and Simon stumbles into a clearing. 

There is a man standing in the middle of it, looking cool as a cucumber, and smoking a long white cigarette. 

Simon blinks away the last of the sun spots from the abrupt lighting change out of his eyes and openly gawks at the man. 

He's in a crisp green suit, hair black as midnight, slicked back tight against his scalp. One raised eyebrow was the only emotion on his face, "You shouldn't be able to find this place. The wards were placed long ago to keep your kind out." 

Simon reaches for his sword instinctively, hands only clutching empty air though as he remembers his blade is still hanging on the back of the armchair by the window. 

"Curses to Crowley and back again!"

The mystery man's eyebrow hitches even higher, "Now there's a swear I haven't heard in many of your decades." 

Simon snarls wordlessly, "I'll curse you worse then that if you even think of stepping outside that circle Fae." 

  
The man chuckled, glancing at the perfect ring of mushrooms containing him. "I am no Faeborn, little flame." He takes a step forward, and Simon turns around and _ runs _


	2. Sour Cherry Stalling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'll tell her later

Simon still hasn't told Penny about the man he saw in the circle during the Golden Hour. It's been days and days and endless days, and he has neither told her nor returned to the woods. 

Penelope is a clever fae, always has been, and will be well after Simon is pushing up sunflowers outside the window like his father is right now. She knows something is wrong. Has known since the moment she returned the next, and many Golden Hours after, somehow at the same time, to find Simon sitting in his armchair, sharpening the old sword his father gave him like he was going to war next sunrise, not to just use it to help cut down the wheat and weeds.

To be perfectly honest, Simon doesn't know if he’s going to war or to weed but it’s comforting to know the edge is honed to a point that it will prick his finger in passing but not shatter after one blow. 

Penny asks and asks and asks. She even tries to spell him, but compulsion magic doesn't work in this part of the valley, too much magic drain off from the mountains, magic to cold for anyone to waste heat energy lying, so none of her attempts take hold of Simon's tongue. 

Finally Penny gives up with a whoosh of air pushed through her nose from more then one dimension, and she drops next to Simon on the bed, slamming her head into his gut with a last burst of petty frustration. Simon grunts, but doesn't comment. 

“So if you aren't going to tell me what you’ve been up to, and you’re not going to do what I tell you to do, then what in the Worlds am I supposed to do with my day?” 

Simon smiles, the hand not behind his head, coming down to pull and tug and twist Penny’s thick hair around his fingers. “We should make sour cherry scones, this evening. I’m running low and we still haven't matched the taste to your dad’s yet.” 

Penny snorts, “I swear to the skies he spells them, there is no _ way _ it can be anything but a spell.” 

Prodding her off him Simon, rolls into a sit, then a stand, offering a hand to his best friend, “Then let’s go spell some scones.” 

He’ll tell her later


	3. Avoidance Gets You Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mushrooms are waiting, the trees are stirring, but who will be found in the circle this time?

Simon tells himself he follows Penny into the woods this time to tell her. To ask her. It seems like it has to be right where it happened to fully explain everything, but Simon  _ knows  _ that’s a lie. His bones know. Morgana! Even the tomatoes know at this point! 

He’s going into the woods to find the Man again, not to tell Penny, and he’s got his sword this time. He’s prepared his time. He’s going to get answers this time. 

The Man’s last words, “I am no Faeborn little flame” haunt Simon. Stirring his gut and his heart in the middle of the into a swirling pot of nausea and sweat. 

How can a nonfae stand in a fairy circle and not be transported to the World of Fae Mages. How can he step out of the mushrooms, if he’s caught there. How how how how _ how _ -

Simon’s hand tightens on the hilt of his sword, along with his conviction. He WILL get answers. 

Still not expecting the clearing to come upon him as soon as it does, Simon blinks in the light of the Golden Hour, one hand coming up to shield his face as his eyes adjust. 

The clearing is empty of men in green suits with slick hair, but the mushroom circle is there, so Simon knows he’s in the right place. 

So he goes looking, across the clearing, around the circle, and into the far side of the forest, swinging his sword as he goes. 

It is silent, save for the rhythmic, thwack thwack thwack of his blade, but Simon can feel eyes on him. The same eyes from before. He can see a darker green shape with crisp lines, dance in between the trunks of dryad trees. He’s being taunted, he knows. But Simon Snow has never backed down from a challenge, even when it landed him in the muck of magic trouble. 

But the Golden Hour comes and goes, the night creeping in with it’s dark chill, well before Simon is close to catching his mystery man. Simon turns back, deciding to return as many times as it takes to track this- this-  _ not fae _ , down. 


	4. A Namesake of Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shadows play with Simon till their master is tired of running

It’s a routine now. Ingrained into his very bones just as going out to pick the mornings vegetables is. 

Wake up, morning chores, breakfast, wave Penny goodbye, loiter till Simon is sure she’s gone, then snatching up his sword and dashing back into the forest. Every sun he makes more progress on the bramble, but feels like he’s walking backwards in terms of finding the man again. 

It’s been so many suns Simon has lost count, but he follows his same path like always, but unlike always, the man is standing at the far edge of the clearing. He’s half shadowed in the shade of the tree’s canopy, but Simon doesn't care. He charges, blade out, barely sparing half a thought to skirt the mushroom ring in front of him before he plunges into the space the man had been only seconds before. Looking around wildly, Simon sees the man again, this time further ahead and charges again. The man moves just before Simon reaches him and again when Simon looks up he’s further along the path. 

Over and over and over again they play this game, till when Simon charges the man flickers to the side, instead of forward, sending Simon nearly careening into a tree. 

  
Panting and pissed, Simon follows, chest heaving from the strain of running for so long. He slows, the way no longer cleared by hours of sword swinging. But the shadow of his man still waits for him, just out of reach. Simon follows it, sword raised but the shadow finally allows itself to be slashed into existence. 

Simon keeps his blade up as he steps into another clearing, this one smelling of smoke and decay and much darker then the last one had been. Where in the Worlds….

The same from that day so many suns ago sits against a half burnt stake, green suit stained with ash the same color as the flora around him. His hair is loose and falling in his face, obscuring his eyes. 

“You’ve found me little flame,” The man says tiredly, “A flame and a fake fae in a place where generations of fae were burned.” 

Simon inches towards him, blade at the ready. “What are you talking about?” 

The man gestures around them, uncaring of Simon coming at him, “You stand in a witches grave little flame. Many fae _ and _ innocents died here.” He looks up at Simon, standing over him blade raises to strike. 

“Here to burn me up?” 

The words are steady, but the man’s face is tear stained, and his nose drips with snot. Simon shifts his feet into a better position, “What’s your name?” he asks. It’s a test Penny taught him long ago. “If a fae is trying to lure you away, they’ll make you guess. If they’re only curious about you they’ll ask you your name. Never give it to them, unless you trust them with your life. That’s what names are in the Worlds Simon,  _ lives _ .” 

The man looks up at Simon, grey eyes swirling with blues and greens and blacks. “My name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. A mouthful in the best of tongues,” he leans his head back against the burnt wood behind him, “Folk call me Baz instead.” 

Penny never told Simon what do when a fae gave you  _ their  _ name. 


	5. Give Me Back All Our Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sighing again, wistful this time, instead of defeated, Baz extinguish the flames from one hand and waves it over Simon, “Rain, rain, go away, give him back all the days.”

Simon eases his blade down, squatting across from this ‘Baz’ character. “Why are you here?” 

The man makes an aborted sound, that might have been a laugh if he hadn't been silently crying, “To die.” he says softly, eyes closing, “Isn’t that what you have been trying to do for so many moons? To kill me?” 

“No,” Simon whispers, the honesty of it leaping from his bones to his mouth, “I only wanted to see you again.” 

Snorting, Baz cracks one eye open, “You carry an enchanted sword with you, and you’ve been swinging it at anything that moves in this forest.” 

“I have only ever known one Fae.” 

“I am no Faeborn,” Baz repeats, grey eyes sliding shut again. 

“Then what are you?” Simon asks, sitting down fully into the ashes. He didn't know what else to do. 

“Half of one, and half of another.” He smiles, all teeth, no humor, and Simon startles. Fangs, white as snow hang down from his lips, but his lips bear the heat of magic in them, even as they curl to reveal white darkness.

“A mother, a vampire. With a father, a fae,” Baz continues, like he hasn't given Simon the worst headache of his life with a single gesture, “Breeds a bastard, that can wield fire but burns in the sun.” 

“Oh.” Simon says, because there isn’t much else to say. 

After a long, long silence, Baz sighs, “If you are not going to kill me little flame then I shall have to do it myself.” 

The ground around the pair of them flickers with sleepy flames. Flames born straight from Baz’s hand. 

“Leave little flame, this fire is not for you.” 

“Why do you call me that?” Simon says instead of getting up, it is hot, this close to open flame but he will not leave Baz alone. He doesn't know why his legs won't move, only that he both can’t, and doesn't want them too. 

“You smell of ash and brimstone and a too hot hearth. Like a tiny flame just starting to catch on the kindling.” 

The fire is struggling to ignite already charred earth but Baz keeps pouring it out of his palms, like an afterthought, like the way Simon is known to overfill tea cups when he’s distracted. 

“You always have,” Baz whispers, nearly soft enough to be drowned out by the fire from his hands. 

“What?” 

Sighing again, wistful this time, instead of defeated, Baz extinguish the flames from one hand and waves it over Simon, “Rain, rain, go away, give him back all the days.” 

Suddenly the world goes white. 


	6. Missing Memories Amid the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sighing again, wistful this time, instead of defeated, Baz extinguish the flames from one hand and waves it over Simon, “Rain, rain, come away, give him back all the days.” 
> 
> Suddenly the world goes white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAP WAS REALLY HARD FOR ME FOR SOME REASON BUT HERE IT IS. I also hate how it's formatted but I don't know how to fix it so. fair warning ig

Simon’s floating, dividing into an endless field of white as pure as the snow he was named for. It’s not cold up here through, whatever spell Baz had cast protecting him from this blankness. As if thinking of the man summoned him, Baz’s voice tickles Simon’s ears, laced heavy with magic, “Start from the first, then to the last, wake him up, knowing the past.”

Right on cue, the whiteness bubbles away as Simon drifts down towards it. Swiping his hand through the magic foam Simon watches down on the little valley he grew up in…… 

_ “Come on! Come on!”  _ Real life Simon watches his five year old self tow along a dark skinned little boy behind him, both of them laughing as they run through the grass. “ _ Look! _ ” little Simon declares, pointing triumphantly down at the stream that cut through the valley like a blue satin ribbon. 

“ _ What is it?” _ the other boy asks, squatting down to poke at the mud. 

“ _ My ma says it’s a-”  _

_ “OW!”  _

Little Simon dissolves into laughter as the other boy, leaps up, waving his hand around frantically, a little baby snapping turtle clamped down on one finger.

“ _ Get it off! Get it off!! _ ” the boy shrieks

Little Simon, still laughing, chases his friend down and gently takes his hand, wiggling a short stubby stick between the turtles jaws. Finger freed, the other boy clutches his hurt finger to his chest, “_W_ _ hat is that thing?”  _ he cries, eyeing the turtle distrustfully as they watch the creature, still vengefully clamped around the stick.

“A Snapping Turtle!” Little Simon cries, grinning around a few missing teeth. He carefully lowers the turtle back into its home and both boys watch it swim down deep away from them.

“You actually  _ like  _ being snapped at?” The other boy asks, nose wrinkled in confusion. 

Little Simon laughs again, clear and high with delight as he takes his hand. “Come on Baz! I have something else to show you!” 

Simon, jolts from the scene at the name drop and it falls away from him, a new picture forming, this one soft with summer colors. 

“Do you remember-?” Teen Simon smiles down into the clear water of the stream.

“Remember when you sicced a snapping turtle on me?” Teen Baz huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “I do.”

Teen Simon laughs softly, turning to grasp Baz’s elbows and drawing him into a gentle kiss. “I never did apologize for that did I?”

Through the portal Simon Proper can see Baz’s shoulders relax down, can see him fighting not to smile. 

“No.” Teen Baz says, “I don’t think you did.” 

Laughing through another chaste kiss Teen Simon pries Baz’s arms down from his chest and quickly fills the gap they leave. “Well then,” Teen Simon says to the underside of Teen Baz’s jaw, “let me formally apologize for-“ his smile goes wicked and he shoves Baz hard in the chest, “THIS!”

Taking off running toward Ebb’s house, Simon doesn’t even spare a glance back at Baz, now soaked through with icy cold stream water and swearing as he chases after him. 

The two of them collide in the middle of the goat’s pasture, Simon having botched his jump over the fence, slowing him down enough for Baz to catch up. 

Howling the two of them tussle in the grass, laughter and shouts drawing Ebb out of her cottage. She smiles at the two round faced kids in her yard. Still plump with youth but gangly with growth. She laughs and then looms up, right into Simon’s eyes. The real, floating, Simon’s eyes. 

The scene closes with the knowing twinkle in Ebb’s eye. 

Unnerved Simon floats to the right, toward a picture that’s blue with the clouds of winter. It’s his mother’s funeral. Or the end of it. Nearly grown Simon and his father stand before the freshly tilled earth, the cold breeze freezing the tears to Simon’s cheeks.

All of this Simon Proper remembers but what different is a shadow peeling itself from a gravestone a few rows ahead of Lucy’s fresh one. It walks towards Simon, as his father walks away. Simon remember feeling abandoned but in this scene the shadow clarifies into the shape of Baz, paler then he’d been in the last memory but Simon is focused on his hand on his past self’s shoulder. His arms drawing Simon into his chest as Simon stands there, empty eyed. 

Simon proper turns away, blinking moisture from his eyes, the scenes too painful to watch any longer. The next closest bubble is brighter, spring again and Simon goes willingly into its warmth. 

Past Simon kneels under his kitchen window, a broad smudge of dirt under one cheek as he sniffles but continues to work the dark soil under his hands. A shadow cuts across the fresh dirt and then Baz is there kneeling next to him, irreparably staining his fancy slacks with the soil. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” Past Simon whispers, applying a new layer of dirt to his cheek.

Tensing, Baz leans back on his heels, “Are you afraid of me?” He busies himself with rolling up the sleeves of his pressed white shirt but the fear radiating off of him is obvious. 

Past Simon makes an aborted noise, and stops digging in the dirt to stare at Baz. “Crowley Baz, no I’m not afraid of you. I’ve never been afraid of you, then or now. I only-“ he sniffles again, futilely wiping at his nose long enough to lose his train of thought. “Are you in pain? The-“ Simon looms up into the brilliant noon high sun above them. 

Baz seems to get the reference even if Proper Simon, watching invisible from above, does not. 

“No more then it burns you,” he says softly, “pass me the seeds Snow, if you work this dirt anymore it’ll be dust before you plant anything in it.” 

Past Simon laughs, a wet choked sound, and wordlessly reaches into his pocket to pull out a fistful of sunflower seeds. 

“There-“ he hiccups, “There wasn’t anymore room in the cemetery. The- the mayor. He still hasn’t approved of expanding so-“ Simon’s face crumples into something painful, “so I had to bury him out here.” He finishes weakly. 

“Oh Simon,” heedless of the sobs and dirt and the sun, Baz leans over and envelopes Simon into an embrace. 

  
  
  


Simon lurches away, pain twisting so hard in his heart it may have been a knife. “Please,” he whispers to the whiteness all around him, “please no more.” 

“Start from the first, then to the last.” The echo of Baz’s spell haunts the spaces in between the images. The memories, Simon knows now. All of them his memories. Memories spelled out of his head. 

A new spell cuts through the haunting echo, “hurry up make it fast, speed us up till the last.” 

A new bubble opens up in front of Simon and the images come quick now, like a film skipped through too fast. 

Simon can catch snapshots though, Baz’s hand in his, leading him to the Bunce’s house. Penny looking between them both before nodding. Baz and Penny and Simon laying about in the grass. In the forest. In Simon’s room. 

Then Baz standing pale in front of Simon, red around his mouth and water in his eyes. “She’s dead.” Baz whispering into Simon’s neck,tears quickly following the words. 

Then Baz smiling tighter and tighter every time he sees Simon. Simon walking in on Penny and Baz talking in hushed whispers, startling when Simon makes himself known. 

Finally it all stops, focusing into one last memory. Simon knows it the last one as well as he knows his eyes are blue.


End file.
